Between the Two
by Livilulu
Summary: Graciela Juliet is constantly being compared to her sister; she's not as old, tall, pretty, smart, or amusing as her sister. Her sister is favored for everything, but Gracie never imagined she would meet her sister in combat. In the Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Looking back on the events leading up to where I am now, of course I with that things had gone differently, but everything is okay now. The little flashbacks have stopped, and so have the nightmares. I've gone through a bit of mental therapy, and I'm richer beyond my wildest dreams. Of course, five years ago, I wasn't as content as I am now. I was a miserable wreck. Six years ago was when it happened.

_* If you think about it, I'm not really giving anything away, since you have no idea who I'm talking about. In most of my stories, the prologues are narrated by someone who isn't narrating the actual story. Then again, they could be. This person could be anyone from a background character to Gracie._

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The reapings scare me to death, and so do the games. My friends call be a badass, except for when it comes to the Hunger Games. I hate History, since a great deal of ours is the Hunger Games. It's been around for exactly 362 years. I've hated watching every sixteen of which I've been alive to see. I could never imagine being reaped. With my sister, however, it's a different story.

Corinne has always loved the Hunger Games, death and all. I don't really think she enjoys the death, she just sees it as a bad part of her favorite reality show. You see, I've always been lesser than Cori, not as old (she's eighteen), not as tall, not as pretty, not as smart, not as funny, not as seductive, not as clever, not as popular, not as curvy, not as blonde. I'm average height, my grades are usually b's, I'm average looking with the average spread of pimples and freckles, I have a good _sense_ of humor but I'm not actively funny, and I'm not popular, but I'm not unpopular. I have average brown hair that's far thinner than most brunettes. I'm more around the social middle. Of course, Cori being my sister got me some serious popularity points. I'm as skinny as a stick and just as straight as one. She's rather busty, but I'm still an A cup. When I try to sound seductive, I sound evil. My friends laugh at me when I try. The only thing I have going for me is my swift adjustment to change, while Cori hates change and doesn't accept it.

My friends only say I'm a badass because they're a bunch of wimps, and I'm not as wimpy as they are. Yeah. So I'm not really that badass.

The thing is, I've been through a bit more than Cori. When I was twelve, my best friend was reaped, and when I was fourteen, my boyfriend was reaped. Of course, he was only my boyfriend because everyone was doing it, but I still think I really quite liked him, and whatever attachment I had to him was enough to make him cry. Neither of them won.

Each of us have 'parents', as in we prefer one or the other. I prefer my mom, and my sister prefers my dad. Of course, that also presents another problem. My dad was quite like my sister in high school, except… boy version. My mom was almost the same as me, except she's quite beautiful. My mom was almost killed once, though. When she was younger, she was reaped, but her boyfriend volunteered for her. He was seriously dedicated to her. Mom says they would have been married, if she hadn't been reaped. He'd died. It worked out okay in the end, says mom, since she wouldn't have had her four beautiful children.

My mom's ex's season was a huge season in Hunger Games history. It was the year boys could volunteer for girls, and vice versa. It was the year it was made an official rule that two could be the winners of the Hunger Games, same or different districts, if they wished. Of course, if the two hated each other, they generally went in for the kill, but only heartless people on brutal seasons have ever done that. Why kill when you don't have to?

We live in District 11, the worst district of them all. We're punished more heartlessly than any of the other districts, and we manufacture the most boring things. Everything is gray. Neons are forbidden in school. See, if we hadn't lived in District 11, things might have been different. People in their last year of school always go on a field trip to another district for one week, because our district is horrible, and nobody wants to spend their last week of school here. This year it fell on the reaping, and Cori went on the trip, to District 8.

We are four child family, three girls and a boy. Well, not really a boy. Donovan's twenty, but acts forty. Well, really, he acts like he has all of the knowledge and wisdom of the world. He has a long-time girlfriend, and always has some stubble on hand.

My younger sister, Estella, or Stella, is the epitome of perfection. She developed all of the good traits our family possessed. She's also an overachiever, the best example being that she wants to be the mayor's daughter when she grows up. That's not going to happen for _many_ reasons.

Our family was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, so to speak.

*_This was just the introductory chapter, the rest will be longer! Hope you like!_


	2. Against All Odds

"Graaaaciiiiiieee…" a singsong voice interrupts my peaceful dream, and I moan as I roll over. Gently opening my eyes, I am greeted with Stella's smiling face standing over the bed, gently shaking me awake.

"It's reaping day, and we leave in half an hour!" Donovan yells as he passes the doorway to my room, throwing a pillow at my face. He is not as forgiving as my sister. I sit up quickly, my hair gathering in clumps behind my head, and I must look a little crazy, for Stella put her head down and backed out of the room. I sigh, and flop back down on my bed. Great. The worst day of the year has just arrived.

The next hour was a blur. I throw on some dress my mother laid across the foot of my bed, angrily hack away at the rat's nest called my hair, and wiggle into some boots. No, I'm not as elegant as I have been on previous reapings, but this one should be no different than any other I've ever attended. My family has only ever had to sign up for tesserae when Donovan was 12, and that was before my father hit it big where he works, and we've never had a shortage on food since.

Donovan and I walk behind my mother and Stella, but we don't make any kind of conversation. He doesn't really like the games much, either, contrary to my too-good-to-be-true mother and sister, for whom the glass is always half full.

We all arrive in the crowd around the stage, none of us particularly standing out. Nobody around here really worries much about the reaping. The odds are so against being chosen that it's not a topic of concern, and even if one is chosen, there is always the possibility of volunteering. However, it is slim. District 11 is not exactly a happy little, tightly knit community. However, I'd say my family is known around town.

However, this Hunger Games is different for me. I've come to a conclusion. Almost nobody volunteers in my district, and more people should. Countless 12 year olds are chosen, and all of the able 18 year olds in my district just let them die. I won't do that this year. If a 12 year old is chosen, I will volunteer. I feel it kind of my duty, if we are going to be forced to perform such acts on other children, I will let it be me; the one who is most likely to survive. A 12 year old can't do what I can, and I know it.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, is _the_ moment you have all been eagerly awaiting," our representative, Hali Crymansi, says, and she clearly did not mean to be sarcastic. It was insane how naive capitol people could be. She reached her hand into the boy's bowl first. Even though the reapings weren't really gender restrictive, old traditions had not yet faded. I squeezed my eye shut and tried to block all feeling. I hated hearing the frightened wails as the family of the newest tribute clings to each other, and the stony white face of the tribute as he fights to stay strong. It's the same thing every year; and just as horrifying.

"Cedrik Pieper," Hali called, and there was a collective gasp. I opened my eyes, for the gasp captured my attention. So did the was the mayor's son; he was very well liked, he had blonde hair and innocent, blue eyes, and addressed everyone as "sir" and "m'am". His parents were active members of the community. It was almost unthinkable that he might be reaped, but he just had.I was waiting for calls of uproar, retaliation, and maybe even a volunteer, but there was silence, past the gasp. Cedrik, stony white, marched up to the stage. I knew what I had to do.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I croaked, but loud enough to hear. There was another collective gasp, and I felt a dozen cold hands clasp around my arm.

"Gracie, no, you don't have t-" I heard someone, probably my mother, whisper frantically into my ear, but I wrenched away from her. I couldn't just stand by and watch this boy walk into his sure death. At least I would have a fighting chance at survival.

I am escorted by a pack of peacekeepers, I hear whispers, and can make out a few of them.

"Who's she?"

"What a brave young girl."

"Yeah, brave and _stupid_."

I squeeze my eyes shut again, trying to block out these comments. I feel as if I'm not thinking straight. Am I? I'm not sure. I'm seeing double as I robotically march up the steps to the stage. All is silent; one could hear a pin drop.

"Ahem, well," Hali said, sounding a bit flustered. I pinch my arm and shake my head frantically, and when I open my eyes, my vision is normal, and Hali is reaching into the girl's calls the name of a sandy blonde haired girl I don't recognize, who's drunken father seems a bit glad to be rid of her. I think it's despicable, but it would be unwise to team up. She doesn't seem the sharp type, tripping over her own feet and choking on the air, just on her way up to the stage.

It is just starting to sink in. I am a tribute in the Hunger Games.


End file.
